The smoke from my cigarette danced in strange ways behind the crystalized hand of Mooda Fret. Which amused me since he’d been so very anti-smoking. That is very much in the past tense. His left hand is mounted on a small stand on my desk. His right in is the possession of a man who’s name I wish I didn’t know. His head is at the bottom of a pit that holds no light. We keep these things apart for a reason.

The cigarettes themselves were nothing special. But the box I kept them in, well, that belonged to a woman with a mask. A mask I was never sure I understood. And another woman who looked just like her. I’m not certain which was which.

And the office, the office was once occupied by the very first P.I. to work the Big Juncture, Anthony Turn. I never met him. He disappeared decades ago while down in the sewers, looking for a body he believed was tattooed with the combination to the Vault. I ‘studied’ under his successor, Alex Martel, for three years, until she vanished in the same way, looking for the same body.

I’m telling you this to give myself a little cred.

I’m not some new girl, looking to make a name for herself. I’m not looking to prove anything. So when I open my office for business after a long hiatus, its serious.

I had to see the glint twice before I was sure. Not an easy thing to notice a moonbeam reflecting off a pair of binoculars on the rooftop across the street. Even harder without letting those spying eyes know you know.
I rose, casually, and turned out the lights, as if closing up for the night.
Within seconds after closing and locking the door, I was on the roof of my building.
Seconds after that, I was sliding down the zip line from my building to the one my little friend was occupying.
What? It makes for a great fast escape.
Who cares if it's also fun.
Oh, and I don't care who you are, no one really knows how to react to a 5'8" woman in boots hurtling down at them at what certainly feels like a pretty damn good clip. I think he was both trying to turn and run while also pulling a gun from his coat.
Bad move.
Pick a plan, commit, and leave everything else behind.
Try to do two things at once and, well, you end up with boots in your face and a concussion.

My knee on his chest, I gripped his hair, pulling his head up a bit.

"Tell him something for me. He does NOT want a repeat. He really doesn't He thinks it was bloody then, it'll be worse now. I WILL not have it. Tell him that. Tell him that if he tries this again, it'll make last time look like a fucking parade. Tell him, it won't be his men taking the bullets. Tell him."

For good measure, I broke his nose, and left him whimpering and bleeding as I climbed down the fire escape, and returned to my office, still shaking with adrenaline.

The suit that walked in cost more than the rent on my office.
Two months rent.
Maybe three.
You learn to judge these things since this kind of information can radically change your bargaining strategy. In this case, it upped my base fee dramatically, as you might imagine.

“Ms. Garrote, my name is David Rens. I have need of your services. A...colleague of mine has gone missing. He’s eccentric, and has disappeared more than once, always coming back on his own.”

“Mr. Rens, missing person cases can be tricky work. If he’s coming back on his own, shouldn’t you...”

“This time, Ms. Garrote, there’s a deadline. His name is Anderson Durant.”

“Wait. I know that name, he...wait, he just won the...”

“Nobel Prize for his work in the field of optics.”

“Lenses and stuff?”

“Lenses, light, vision. Yes. He’s missing and the award ceremony, which includes a very sizable check, is coming up quickly.”

“The timing and the check make you think there may be foul play, I’m assuming.”

“Very right,” and he tossed two large envelopes on my desk. “One of those is all the information we have, a full dossier of Durant, and as much of his work as you might need. Of course, some things have been redacted.”

“Of course.”

“Since there are both corporate and government issues at hand. I’m sure you understand.”

“I’m sure I do.”

We didn’t talk about the other envelop.

He turned to walk out, “We get on a plane in three days, Ms. Garrote,” he held up three fingers over his shoulder, “We need him by then.”

I didn't open the second envelop. There was enough cash in there, or I was just keeping it.
Thing is, I wasn't kidding when I said these missing persons deals were tricky.
Thing is, you never know if the missing-ness is accidental, intentional, or nefarious.
Thing is, it can be all three.

Figuring that out can take weeks, and until you do, it can be almost impossible to begin to look.

Luckily, I know things.
Things that used to be people.
Things that see.

I felt guilty walking into his room. I hadn't been to see him in months. I don't think I was avoiding him, but my mind has a mind of its own.
So who knows.

"Marcus, its me, Rebecca," my voice echoing off the cold room, empty save for the rock slab his body rested on, and the various machines that kept his functions going, kept his fluids fresh. Kept him young and alive. I guess the room really wasn't that empty. But it felt that way. Marcus was alive because we were afraid what would happen if he died.

1929 was a dark, violent nightmare for my city. I've seen the pictures, talked to a few who were there, read endlessly on it. Sodom and Gomorra stuff. Something like earthquakes, and tectonic risings, and structures just collapsing on their own.
And fire.
Flood waters from the ground.
And bodies.

By the end of '29, Marcus was here, sedated, and with some sort of device in his spine to keep him from moving. Didn't always work. '65, for example, and '88. They fit him with a new one, something more effective.
He didn't mean any of it, of course, but a man can only stay still for so long. Even with all the science voodoo on him. After the '88 incident, they brought a shrink in to talk with him. That seemed to help.

In all this time, he hadn't aged a day. It still amazed me.

"Marcus, I need you help. There's someone I need to find. I need you to tell me if he's in the city. It sounds stupid, but I have a really bad feeling about this one."

There was a rumbling from under the ground, barely noticeable. Water wash rushing through pipes and sewers. Lights dimmed and brightened. The wind stopped.
And, somehow, he told me that, yes, my scientist was in the city. But thats all he could tell me.

I held my hand out over his bare chest. I couldn't touch him. Dare not touch him, but I could let him feel the warmth of my skin close to his. Make him just a sliver less alone.
For a moment.

No, I don't fucking know how I ended up at the bar.
"How the hell did I end up here?" I asked, because, as I mentioned, I didn't know.
"The way you usually do. You wandered here in a daze, and then asked how you got here. Well, asked after your third drink," my bartender Ojai answered. He was rapidly dropping in my esteem for being a wise-ass.
The hypocrisy did not escape me.

Knuckles Moynahan was, besides being the possessor of a very unlikely name, a facilitator. A go-between. Someone with wide web of connections who could bring parties together to get a job done. I do that sort of work from time to time, but, then again, I do just about every sort of work from time to time. Knuckles, though, is a real pro at it. I'm more than a little embarrassed that I didn't know who he was the first time we met.
I first met him on the job I first met Ellie.

"Garrote," he greeted me curtly as he took a perch on the stool next to mine.

He gave me a rather long moment to contemplate whether or not this was a coincidence, another job offer, or just the next domino.

I found the card in some little run down diner, on the corner of Fifth and Maine. Who knew why I had kept it? Maybe I believed it would come in handy. I had plucked it from it's spot on the beat up bulletin board, between the woman looking for housekeeping help and the teeny boppers wanting to baby sit someone's rug rats for a few dollars. I had inspected it, allowing the off white color, the slick feel, to slip through my fingers as I studied the name~Garrote.

Day one

"Nelodie. Answer this fucking phone." BEEEEP *click*

"Seriously, Nell, don't make me come over there." BEEEEP *click*

Day five

"Please tell me you have my dog. I won't hurt you if you have my dog." BEEEP *click*

"Nelodie, you bought him for me. Just because I put you out doesn't give you the fuckin' right to take my dog, you fuckin' cunt!" BEEEEP *click*

Day eight

"Nell, you are scaring me. Why won't you answer?" BEEEEP *click*

"The voice mail box is full. Please try your call later."

So, I let ten days pass without a word. And then, I decided enough was enough and went to investigate. That was my first mistake.

Her apartment door had been ripped from it's hinges and the living room looked as if a combination hurricane/earthquake had shaken everything loose. I stepped over tossed books, flipped sofas, broken glass. My eyes searched from left to right, looking for a tell tell that didn't exist. Nelodie was gone. So was my puppy.

Feet led me to the bedroom. Blood stains on the window, on the wall, on the bed. I was freaking by that point, I knew I was. I could smell her, her and my puppy. Who ever had them had better hope my puppy was ok. Shock. A head shake. I couldn't fix this. I didn't have the people, the connections I used to have. And anyway, this wasn't my town. It had belonged to Nelodie. Fuck!!

I made it home and tried to focus on the next step...on the next thing to do. That was when I remembered the card, the P.I., Rebecca Garrote. I don't have a phone. I always use pay phones. Stupid, I know. Call me a technophobe if you want but I have a problem with any sort of ray being aimed at my brain so~ no computer, no cell phone, no tee-vee. Fuck that noise. I am gonna die by violence, I am sure of it. But it won't be from no fruity ass gamma ray.

Creamy parchment paper, an off white envelope. I wrote a few words and included my address and the most pertinent bit~a blank check, signed by me: Michaela North, owner and operator of one of the largest trucking businesses in the area.

Mz. Garrote~
I am missing two things~my brindled American Staffordshire pit bull puppy, 7 months old and my ex girlfriend, Nelodie Parker. I have not heard from her in ten days. I believe that she has my puppy. This check is blank and signed. I will approve any amount up to 20 grand. My address is *blah blah blah*. I do not use phones outside of my office. You may call there if you've a mind to but I won't get the message until I go back to work. If you think you can help me~fill out the amount and come to my home. I will give you 48 hours to decide before I start looking elsewhere for help.

Done and done. Called my delivery guy, had him take it to the address listed on her card. He could either put it in her hand or slip it under the door. No matter. She would either come or not. I hope she came. I missed my fuckin' puppy.

It had been three months since the nobel prize fiasco, and I know that the payments I get sound like a lot, but money goes fast.
Rent, chinese take-out, and for the first two months I even had to pay this protection scam fuckers. But only til I got settled and explained to them the terrible error of their ways.
I am opposed to the police abusing Tasers, but they are...shockingly...effective at convincing weak ass punks to look for rubes in another neighborhood.
The other tenants threw me a party. It was nice, really.

All that aside, I was down to my last dollars, and so I was more than happy to hear the envelop slip under the door and the feet scurrying away.

The penmanship was interesting and the paper smelled of motor oil and something...enticing.
And, no offense to the woman I would come to know in the following days and weeks, but a blank check is an even better lure than perfume.
Well...except for that one scent.
But we won't get into that here and now.

Yeah, I know, its cliche, but I love the feel of the bike between my leather clad legs, and given her location, it seems a good time for a ride. Jacket, helmet, and yeah, heels, fuck you. I'm a girl.
SOmetimes.

I pulled up to her home, not huge or anything imposing, but nice enough, and the metal work all around, ledges, window panes, all spoke of a great deal of love put into the place. Unique.

Delivery successful. He had come the whole way back to inform me of that. Dumb ass. Like I wouldn't have known if he had decided to fuck off and not do the job I had paid him for. True, this place wasn't MY place. Nelodie ran things differently than I did, and being two different types~well, what can you do? But, the fact of the matter is~I know the people who work for me, in whatever capacity. Otherwise, they wouldn't work for me. Case closed, game over, zip up your fly.

I chased him out into the hungry world and decided to clean up. I mean, after all, no matter how good I am at trucks, deliveries, ENGINES...at the end of the day, I am still just a woman (of a sort) and I prefer to not greet people covered in oils, greases and blood. And something told me, Mz. Garrote was gonna be coming sooner, rather than later.

Now, I know I am rather striking in my way. Practically bald, all lithe muscle, with the air of a caged wild canid. It isn't my fault. Blame it on my clan if you must. I just use what the Gods gave me to the best of my ability. And honestly,my looks aren't going to make a difference to this detective. Not really. Whether I am in control and not a cagey nut job who killed her own ex girl friend and puppy is what will matter. Right now, I am taking cagey nut job to a whole NEW level. So I gotta pull it together, before this person shows up.

An hour later, and I am ok. Low rise jeans, a black wife beater, lip gloss, black boots. I look a bit more foxy than normal but since that is just heritage, there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. And fuck it. I know I look good in human or full on fox. I am pretty either way and girly enough to care about it.

So fuck it. She is coming. I hear the roar of a well cared for bike pulling into my drive and I move to my door. A moment to switch on the night vision cameras so I can get a glimpse of her before inviting her inside. Damn. She is all female, all the time and it should be against the law to look that good in leather. I compose myself and then move to open the door.

"Hello. I assume you are Rebecca Garrote? Please. Come inside."

My voice sounds husky. Like some sort of hyped up sex goddess. I have got to control that. Foxes may be a bit promiscuous but I know that it can be controlled. And anyway, this is strictly business. I don't care if she looks good enough to make a full course meal that would last me at least a week. Shaking all these random thoughts away, I lead her into my den. I motion her to a chair and move to the opposite side of the desk, my hands pulling out the folder containing pictures and information on Nelodie and my puppy with nary a thought. I toss the manilla folder to her.

"Everything I know about the cunt who took my fucking puppy is in there. I have the pictures I hadn't burned yet as well as the papers for my pup. Her name is Melody."

My voice fades into silence as my eyes focus on the woman before me. She hasn't really spoken since I invited her in. Then again, I haven't given her time. I clear my throat and start over.

"Um, would you like a drink? And have you decided if you will take the job?"

She was gorgeous, sculpted, designed, crafted and carved. My mouth watered instantly. Every inch of skin, muscle, nerve screamed for me to throw her down and fuck her.
Its her scent. I barely paid attention to what she was saying because of her scent. Were-creature. Thats what she is, thats why I react like that around her. Most people probably do, or react in fear. Certainly anyone sensitive. Its just what were's are. And being manipulated, even unintentionally, annoyed me a great deal. I also didn't like her being in the position of authority. Achieving that was why she'd made me come to her, instead of the other way around.
I decided I didn't like that, quite a bit.

I don't know how I ended up on her side of the desk, my ass slightly perched on it. I shouldn't have been as angry as I was, but thats something else were's can bring out.

"I can't decide if I'll take the case until you answer a question for me, Little Miss Michaela. Which are you really trying to get back?"
I leaned in to whisper in her ear, the pendant I wear around my neck, the silver dagger pendant, caressing her skin, silver on were.
"Are you after the puppy…or the cunt?"

Silver brushed my shoulder. It didn't burn, not at first. This private eye knew something of my kind, but not enough. I work with metal all day long. I have to touch silver and iron and alloys...all damned day. So I could ignore the silver. I couldn't ignore her scent or her words.

I looked up, checking her reaction, scenting her mood. She was pissed that she had had to come to me. And interested, despite it. I could work with that. Hell, I could work with her. However, the silver was starting to itch and it wouldn't be long until it began to burn. I would scar. Didn't matter. One never let the meat....I mean the woman....know what you could handle and what you couldn't. That was the first, and last, rule of hunting.

So, my hand drifted up and pushed her back. Just enough so that her delicate little pendant didn't stay in contact with my flesh. I held a finger up, raising it just beneath her pretty nose. A slight ticking, a no no no without words. My eyes caught hers.

"First off, the silver itches. Second, I didn't force you to come here. Third, I want my fucking puppy. The cunt is gone, I don't want her back. Dogs and cats are not meant to run together. If you find out what has happened to her, I will let those who need that information know. Quite frankly, I don't care. I am paying you to find my puppy."

By the end of this recitation, my voice was on the low end of alto and trailing toward tenor. I could hear just a touch of growl but I couldn't do anything about it. Didn't want to. I love a feisty woman. They bring out the beast in me. Always have. And this Garrote? She was beyond feisty and well into the territory of flat out offensive. Didn't matter. She was hot and I thought, for sure, she would find my puppy.

"So look, why don't you move back to where you started and we take this from the top?"

I inhaled her scent, storing it away and cursing the fact that I didn't have a nose like my cousin, the wolf. Darnika would have been able to tell me everything about this woman with one good whiff. All I knew was she was hot, pissed and walking an edge I didn't know about.

I shrugged and waited. Either she moved in the next few minutes or I was gonna be forced to move her. I wasn't sure if she would be happy about that. I didn't care. If she kept sitting there, with her curves covered by leather, smelling like sin, I wouldn't be responsible for what I did next and that was not the way one went about getting a good working relationship.

If I'd known, before, what she was, besides fucking hot, I would have handled the entire situation differently. I would have come prepared. But I was lazy and careless and didn't do my background research. Mostly, I was distracted by my curiosity for who would pay so much to find a lost puppy. Most people love their pets. Few are willing to pay what some people make in a year to find them.

Everyone lives in a world of roles and rules. Were's drown in it. They are all about dominance, alphas, territory, predator and prey. Its just who they are. If I'd known before I showed up, this would have gone much more smoothly. There's body language, speech patterns and near invisible cues that can establish a framework of equality without, say, having to practically physically threaten the other participant. But I'd fucked up. Anyhow, my, shall we say, assertive conversational style had established, if not equality, then at least the fact that I wasn't easy prey.

I fought the urge to bite her finger, hard. I fought the hunger to taste red. These were because of her. Mostly.

I moved from the desk back to the chair. I know she followed me intensely. I made sure to give my hips a bit more sway. Taking my seat, I crossed my legs and let the pump dangle from my toes.

I started in as if nothing had happened, even though new rules had very clearly been defined.

"I'll take that drink now. Bourbon, straight up. And I'd like to hear the story from your lips. Things that get written down, they get edited."

More, the paper soaks up lies and deception like a sponge in spilled blood. And goes a long way towards spilling more. Like mine.

"So I'd like to tell me everything, including Nelodie. Then i'll decide if I'll take the case. Fair enough?"

Fingers hit the buzzer that beckons my house maid to the Den. My eyes move away from the sinful meal before me and dart to my girl.

"Mz. Garrote has need of bourbon. Two chilled glasses, no ice. Bring the Wild Turkey, Rare Breed. You know where the key is."

I wait until my house maid has undulated away and allow my eyes to refocus on the private eye. Mostly, I am under control. Mostly. I'm not too pissed about her earlier confrontational style, nor do I really care if she feels the need to establish boundaries, dominance, whatever. I am a Fox. We don't care for those things. In the end, if I can't fuck it, eat it or make money from it, I don't bother with it. I am easy to please, that way.

The maid returns, carrying glasses and my bottle of bourbon. I give her a grin and take the tray. A few moments later, I hand Rebecca her glass and toss back my own drink before pouring another two fingers worth into the glass. I rest my chin on my cupped palm and take a deep breath. Another. Seems Garrote wants all the dirt I care to share.

"Ok. I will give you what I have. What I know. What I suspect. What happened."

My voice is soft, softer than normal. It isn't because I am missing Nelodie. I find that speaking quietly, especially when I am telling a story I would rather NOT share, makes it easier for me to remember pertinent details. So, I focus on the woman before me and prepare to spill my guts.

"I met Nelodie Parker three years ago at trucking expo. We seemed to hit it off fairly well, considering. She is were panther, I am were fox. Felid and Canid. Funny, right? We thought those two things, those distinctions wouldn't matter, shouldn't matter. And for the most part, they didn't. When I decided a bit over a year ago to move closer to her, I had to receive special dispensation from my family to leave our enclave. But I figured, fuck it. She was worth it. I didn't realize how badly I would miss having others like myself around. I didn't think on how much her gang of outlaw Were-kitties would get under my skin. I moved my business offices here and set up linking ports to our main fam business. Made things easier. Helped boost my Fam's business, too."

I allow the silence to fall as I gulp the second drink down and pour a third. I feel like someone has scraped my throat with sandpaper. Raw. I don't want to tell the rest of it. Girl meets girl. Girl finds out other girl is a human hunter. First girl beats the dog shit out of second girl and puts her out. Second girl steals the fucking puppy. Didn't want to tell it. But Garrote had asked and I aimed to be honest. So I swallowed my pride and finished the rest of it.

"About three months ago, I began noticing that certain vagrants around my offices were disappearing. I was hearing stories about large cats hunting through the downtown areas on full moons. Didn't believe it. Figured I would keep my snout to the ground and check it out. I had an uncle. Pure human from way back. He had hit on hard times. He used to come and help round the offices from time to time. Best damned mechanic I knew, bar none. He kept me in the loop on street speak.

And then one week, he didn't show. I let two weeks go by, like some sort of pussy whipped puppy. I knew what it was, who it was by then. Nelodie's fucking crew. I didn't want to bust up my happy fuckin' home. When shit came to a head, two weeks ago, I whipped her ass. I fucked her up, good and proper. You DON'T hurt those who can't protect themselves. You can hunt the herd, it's proper...but you damn sure don't fuckin' eat them. After the fight, I put her out. Told her if I clapped eyes on her again, I'd kill her.

I took my ass to work the next morning. When I came home that evening, my house girl informs me that Nell had come and grabbed her shit and that my puppy hadn't been heard from since Nell left. I began calling her phone immediately. Threatening, cajoling, begging. I want my fucking puppy. She knew I loved my fucking puppy.

Ten days. I waited ten days. Finally I showed up there, earlier today. Her house is wrecked. Doors ripped off the hinges, blood, gore...everywhere. I can smell my puppy. I can smell that cunt. But I don't know where she is and I don't know enough about her business to hazard a guess as to who would want to take her out."

Her ears picked up an echo, a very tiny whimper with... an echo. Opening her eyes she saw pup curled up with its nose tucked under a twitching paw, dreaming. She stretched out a paw... wait. Closing her eyes she stretched her entire self, loving to stretch like this, from nose to tail. From nose through extremely sore body, to tail. Her claws dug deep into the concrete with squeaking crunchy sounds and pup growled her little scared puppy growl. Pup was like that. Happiest, cutest little thing ever but growled at her every time she sprouted fur.

Opening her eyes again she saw that Melody had backed away and was all flat ears, tucked tail and bracing herself against the steel mesh. Poor thing.

Nelodies' whine changed half way through as she did, from frustrated feline to, what else... frustrated naked woman. There should have been steel mesh between her and pup but there wasn't. She should have cloths on but she didn't. Wincing she sat up and the world spun. She should be in a bed at the Stratford, a fluffy bed with a tray of strawberries and cream... and coffee, but.. she... wasn't.

Looking round she was naked on the floor of a fucking kennel with her ex's pup. She knew changing back wouldn’t do her a lick of good. She helped design these kennels. Knew all the weaknesses, well she did before she had them modified and corrected. Now there were none. Least none that could be used from the inside.

“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck... What the fuck am I going to do now!” screamed through her head. Nelodie leaned back on the mesh, careful not to press to hard. The electricity only coursed through it when you applied force or broke the strands. Closing her eyes she rubbed her temples waiting for the pounding headache to appear.

She met her three years ago. It was not her first assignment. Wouldn’t be her last. 'Check out the competition.' they said. 'At a Trucking Expo' she retorted in none to delicate tones. The elders looked at her father like 'She's your spawn, you deal with her.' His idea of that was to pet her head. While yes that would almost always calm her, this time it wasn’t the petting but knowing that it was almost her birthday and the entire clan, apparently, wanted her out of the city for a week to prepare. They didn’t want her pulling anyone’s tail for information. Which wasn’t hard. She had a reputation for doing just that. Being her fathers only daughter, only heir, gave her that much more leverage...

Two years later she was back in the same chamber being told she couldn’t have her way, again. That was not going to fly. She ran the city. She could handle one fox in her city. One very, very sultry fox... and the others she would require to set up shop. Despite what they said she wanted to keep her Puppy and this would make her Puppy very happy.

It's a very nice shop.

Growling she rubbed her temples harder.

Memories in tatters leading back to three months ago. When everything started to go to shit. Her cousin thought a male should run the city not a female. Especially one that didn’t even have a proper mate. One that was male or at least feline. He was just pissed because her Fox out ran his company. That was his place. Shipping and Distribution. Didn’t matter that the foxyone didn't even ship the same cargo. Well it did. She still did better business than he did.

Humans started disappearing. All signs lead back to her. She still hadn’t told Michaela really anything of her position in the city. She just, well she never really asked. Being damned observant she probably didn’t need too, specifics were left to notions and unsaid understandings.

With so many things unsaid and so many things happening... it tore at them. Nelodie refused to break and lashed out at Michaela. Pushing her away. If she could push her far enough away she would be safe. If she let her win she would lose all respect for her and go.

Wiping away silent tears she thought of their fight. Harsh words and fierce battle. Michaela never looked so beautiful as she did then; fierce, violent... bitch should have been a doberman.

Heavy locks clicked and scraped in a door she could not see. Boot-falls thudded closer and closer...
Male chuckle... deep, familiar purring laughter...

“You wanted a puppy. Wanted to live with one. Now you have one... Kennel and all...”

__________________

pardon me, my sense making abilities are inebriated at the moment.

"The very existence of flamethrowers proves that sometime, somewhere, someone said to themselves, “You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I’m just not close enough to get the job done.” ~Carlin

My initial reaction at the violence between the two of them was…unpleasant. But then I remembered that these are weres, and the culture, the dynamic is different.
But I also couldn’t help imagining what the sex must have been like. I did not have to struggle to keep my hips from gyrating a tiny tiny bit. I did not. Thats my story and I’m sticking to it.

“Nothing comes to mind just now,” though, at some point, I’d started slowly bouncing my leg, pump dangling from my toes, and my hips had shifted in…that way.
Shit.
Say something, you idiot, or you are just going to sit here and wonder what that skin might taste like, and whether my hand could fit into those jeans without undoing them, and how salty the sweat on the back of her neck might be, and....

“I’ll be the first to admit I don’t know incredible amounts about weres, but I’m a little surprised that two different…races…are sexually compatable.”

Nice job. Very clever. I’m impressed. Please, by all means, continue.

“I would have assumed foxes to foxes, panthers to panthers, even beyond the kitty puppy thingie. Especially in your non-human forms. A panther and a fox hardly seems a balanced pair.”

No, really, this is great, talk more about fucking. Pay no attention to the droplet of sweat running slowly down your spine. Its all good.

The big cat certainly seems the…rougher…of the two.”

Really? Maybe its just time to start thinking strategy, if we’re gonna keep up with this. Are you sure you don’t wanna get really smooth and stick your hand down your leathers?

There is wet heat, a scent like musk and pheremones but lighter, more floral and fruit, less sex and lust. My eyes glance at the private dick but she looks normal. I know differently. I can smell her. She is far from composed. I wonder how much of that is me, how much of that is my ex and how much of that is her own anger simmering just below the surface. Only one way to find out.

"Do you really want the answers to those questions? And are you always so angry when you meet a prospective client for the first time?"

I tilt my head slightly, allowing her to see the barely hidden laughter in my eyes. I mean, seriously? It ain't like I expect her to work for free. I offered her the full fee, up front. And yet, she keeps prodding, pushing, worrying. I don't know what else I can possibly do? Obviously~ what I want to do isn't....feasible or smart. So I push back with a little smirk and a bit of my own pheremones~darker, muskier, smelling of sex and heat and wetness.

"In response to your queries? We never had any trouble...fitting. And we never really fucked in furry form, at least not one another. It would have been a bit of a size difference but not as much as if we were natural animals. I mean, look at me."

I stand up and glance down at myself, all long, lithe musculature in dark chocolate skin.

"It ain't like I am any slouch in the size department. Don't let the bushy tail and reddish orange fur fool ya."

Silence descends. I wait for a moment, reigning in my need to dominate, to mark, to master. Fuck that. She's just a female who has managed to push more buttons than she even knows. It ain't her fault I like 'em pale and sexy and smart assed. And if they are strong willed? Even better. None of that is her fault.

"So, look. Do you think you will take the job? If so, I have some numbers for some of her people listed in my book. I will pass em on."

With those words, I stand and move to her side of the desk. Squatting down, I lean in and sniff, just once. Then I take that lethal looking hand and place it on my throat. I grin up at her, white teeth flashing. My last words on the subject? Priceless. Gotta give myself props for em.

"Take the check, take the folder and the book. Find the kitty and my puppy. Figure out which one you want to fuck more. Hell~ fuck us both and compare. But if you decide to take the case? No more asking questions of a sexual nature."

Hand closes over hers and squeezes, causing her hand to tighten on my throat, making the words come harder, slightly gasped.

"At least, not until you are ready to get naked and find out for yourself."

I stand up and move away, tamping down the desire to plant my nose in her wet heat, tear her leathers away and ravage her where she sits. One doesn't fuck the help, at least not when they first become the help.

It was him... In living color, right here! What the hell? You never let a prisoner know exactly whom their captors were. This is why he ran the trucks, fucking moron.

“Charley?”

“Don't call me that little girl!”

“Fiiiiine... Oh Mighty Carlisle”

Charley hit the mesh, hard, hard enough. She didn’t have time to pull away from it. The electronic hum hit her sensitive ears milliseconds before the shock ripped a scream from her lungs.

Nelodie rolled forward off the mesh to her hands and knees. Looking up at him she growled through gritted teeth. Breathing in her eyes narrowed and lips curled, the growl transformed with a stuttering start and stop. It turned into a giggle that contained not the merest hint of humor.

“Little Charley all alone, how does your garden grow... by pulling tails or waiving sails you'll still never be a calico...”

She rolled onto her back giggling more. Teasing him like she did when they were younger, he had always admired the coat of the calico house cat. It was extremely different from the sleek black and warm tans of their kind.

“Come play with me Charley...”
Arching up off the floor her hands played across the concrete till they were over her head... reaching towards him she extended her claws and pawed at the mesh. She caught his eyes, exhaled and gripped the mesh with all her strength. No sound escaped though her eyes that bore into his glazed and rolled back in her head.

Panting and purring she came-to. Hearing his boots carry him toward the door. She could have swore she heard him call her a 'crazy bitch'... She didn’t care, she was bored of this game. Her voice changed to something akin to angelic and sweet but deadly hollow as it echoed through the whole of the room.

“Chaaarrrrrrlllleyyyyy.... Charley come back... I do so want to play”

__________________

pardon me, my sense making abilities are inebriated at the moment.

"The very existence of flamethrowers proves that sometime, somewhere, someone said to themselves, “You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I’m just not close enough to get the job done.” ~Carlin

In all honesty, I don’t remember how I ended up outside standing by my bike.

In all honesty, I don’t know what the fuck happened during my...talk...with Michaela. That was NOT how I normally am, but, for my own sanity, I wrote it off to some were-shit. I’ve never been certain that our species were meant to interact.

Lets face it, at least in our minds, there are humans and there are animals. The subconscious signals, the subtext and subliminal information that comes from them may just be too much for us to process normally.

Plus, at least some of them see us as prey.

I don’t think this is...what...racist? speciest? any more than I think that its wrong for me to see sharks as uncuddly. Dealing with were’s is just a different kind of thing is all.

I was about to get my ass on the road when I realized that my body was in, shall we say, such a state that a high powered engine vibrating between my thighs might lead to difficult riding, if not plain old crashing while moaning with...oh drop it.

Leaning back on my ride, I let my mind drift away from the crazy I’d just been sucked into, and started considering the situation of the missing puppy. If Nelodie had stolen the dog, which seemed pretty likely, the last thing she’d be about it was quiet. This wasn’t the kind of breakup that went out quietly. It was spiteful and vindictive. No matter how justified either party felt. Therefor, it was safe to assume that she, too, had fallen to foul play of some kind.

But who? Ain’t that always the question.

My body came back into the land of sanity, and I soon found myself breezing through traffic as I wandered my city.

Its about ‘who’. Its always about ‘who’. Thats why its always the big reveal in movies. Sure, motivation and secrets and all. But ‘who’.

I slowed down as I came to the theater district. I loved this part of town. I liked that live theaters were next to cineplexes. That you could see families next to socialites. There was an egalitarian feel to it.

I also liked the lights.

A new Scream movie...a couple of musicals...and then a pairing. One stage had a classic Romeo And Juliet, next to a movie theater showing that Leonardo DeCaprio take on it.

Romeo And Juliet?

Really?

I can’t imagine that Nelodie’s family was happy with the cross-mating. And especially with a competitor. And the power shift that might bring, and how that might disturb the boy-kitties. The only question was HOW upset would they be, and how far would they go.

Star crossed lovers.

This was a stretch, of course, and had more than a couple intuitive leaps involved, but thats how this works, as a rule. You got nothing, you work with that.
What, you want I should check my Ouija Board?

And if I had to kidnap someone, and I didn’t know shit about kidnapping, keeping them where I ran my trucking business, where there was a lot of noise, and storage lockers, and comings and goings, might seem like a very, very good idea.

The private eye had escaped after agreeing to take the job. That was good. I hadn't been sure how much more of her scent and aching need to dominate me right into the nearest fucking bed I could have taken. I mean hell, I am strong. Very strong. Strong enough to go against my natural desires and end things with Nell when it became apparent that she wasn't who (and what) I thought she was. I can do the hard things. I just don't want to, usually. I mean seriously? Who does?

So I was glad Mz. Garotte had taken the job, glad that my puppy would come back, thrilled that someone would find out what had happened to the kitty cunt. I had loved her for a long time and as angry as I was with her, as much as I hated her? Well, I didn't want her to be hurt by anyone but me. How is that for possessive?

It was while these thoughts drifted through my mind, that I recalled a conversation from months ago concerning Nell's trucking manager. What the hell had his name been? Charles, maybe? He hadn't liked me. I was too butch for him and I ran circles around him in every way. I shook my head, not allowing that thought any real staying power. No way he would be stupid enough to try and take Nelodie out. He was dumb as houses but not that stupid, at least I hoped not. That would cause a war the likes of which this city couldn't handle.

There was a chirrup of sound and I recognized it as a cell phone ring tone. Who the fuck would have left one of those in MY house? I don't like those things. I went off to investigate, searching quickly, thoroughly, ending up in the master suite, the one place I hadn't been since the kitty cunt and I split ways. The scent attached to it was Nell's. When had she dropped it and why hadn't I heard it ringing when I was trying to call her?

Fuck? I did NOT want to have to call Garotte back. She seemed intelligent, too smart for her own good. Obviously, she had ways of working that normal civvies like me would be unable to fathom. I tossed the cell phone in a bag and bundled it into Nell's old dresser. If Garotte came back, I would give it to her. For sure, I wasn't gonna be listening to it, letting those old waves fuck up MY thinking power. What? I said I was a technophobe. You thought I was lying?

Drumming her nails along the floor she was running out of patience. She was hungry, thirsty and just fucking pissed. She scratched each sunrise into the floor and now was on day number eight of being here, in a fucking mesh box with a dog. Granted her and the pup were getting along now. Well they got along great when she was all people looking but now they were getting along with her furry. Something about having to share food and snuggle for warmth at night kind of changed perceptions, even in the K9 species.

Her stomach growled loudly. It had been two days since the last bowl of kibble was slipped in the cage. She hated that she is the one that thought about how to feed prisoners such as herself. It was a double-blind simply complex system. Not requiring opening any internal cage doors. Kind of a mix between a bankers drive through drawer and a butters elevator. Only it was weight restricted to ten pounds. If some stupid were crawled in the 2ft square box they would be stuck till they figured out how to crawl back out the way they came in. Why did she help with this project. Oh that’s right, she never thought she would be in this fucking thing for real!!

She picked the pup up by the scruff and pulled it in her lap. Sitting there petting the beautiful brindle she could smell it more than she could in the last few days. There would be a full moon tonight. She could feel it. It made her more hungry, hungry and petting the only thing they would leave her as a meal during this fucking time of the month. That thought pulled a whine from her. No matter how hungry she was, she was not going to eat her puppy...

All day she thought and thought and thought. Evening dawned and she knew. Pup would have to be food to get anyone back in here. They wanted to torment her for it. He wanted to. To somehow prove her inferior to their breeding.

Sitting there she braided an inch wide section of her long mane, changing one finger to its sharp claw and cutting the braid from her head. Kissing the pup she tied its muzzle together and hog tied it. Nuzzling the confused creature she stuffed it in the food dispenser and closed it tight. Now it might be able to whine a bit.. but couldn’t make much other noise.

With pup safely tucked away she lost it. Letting out the primal side of her breed. Letting out all the rage at her cousin, at herself... She ripped at the mesh and herself until blue arching flashes flooded her vision, raging rawrs echoed off the walls and some of her pretty fur was lost, or singed. She raged and raged, chipping concrete, dulling claws.... eventually digging into the voltage... knocking herself completely out.

Hours, days, moments... didn’t matter, she was toasty... and waiting.

She didn’t move even after voices filtered in. Talking about the missing pup, about her, about other things she couldn’t quite make out. She waited not knowing if she would have the strength to strike. She hadn't tried to move yet.. but she was going too.

Right about now.

Someone got very close so she knew the cage door was open. She sprang, digging claws into the nearest lackey, disemboweling him. Bounding out of her cage she tore at the next and clawed through her cousin that was standing in the doorway. She ran through the office and into the warehouse proper.. a black streak through and around crates, trailers and shocked people/weres. Out, she had to get out... and she did. Into a parking lot and she kept running... well is it running when on all fours, who-cares she had to get help for the pup, to report to her father, find her fox...

FOX... she skidded to a halt. She could smell her fox, faintly but smell her she did. Where, scanning, hunting she stalked the smell, it was close. She stalked faster, there was heat to that smell, her musk.

There, a woman on a motorcycle at the edge of the parking lot in the shadows... closer, stalking closer and closer. The woman saw her, said her name... Her ears flattened... closer. Why did this woman smell like fox, her fox... close enough to pounce she sat on her haunches and waited.

__________________

pardon me, my sense making abilities are inebriated at the moment.

"The very existence of flamethrowers proves that sometime, somewhere, someone said to themselves, “You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I’m just not close enough to get the job done.” ~Carlin